Bob scoffs at me but doesn’t say a word. He tosses the remainder of his egg sandwich in the trash and pounds his fist on his desk. I see myself out of his office and return to my own. Anne is fielding phone calls at her desk. I give her a wink and a nod, and she smiles back. An enormous bouquet of red roses is sitting in a vase on the coffee table. I lean down taking a big whiff. I can’t help but smile. I look at the card attached to them. It reads:

Sarah, it’s always been you. Love, Adam

“Those are beautiful.” Anne stands in the doorway, admiring the flowers.

I set the card down and turn to her. “Thanks, they’re from Adam.”

“Well, I sure hope they’d be from your husband. Who else would get you flowers? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re just trying for a baby.” I give a coy smile.

“What! Oh my God!” Anne practically screams bouncing into the office and hugging me.

“A baby… don’t you mean a knick-knack?” a voice from outside my office says. I recognize it immediately. Matthew stands in the doorway, dressed in a J.Crew knit sweater and chino pants. He looks like a skinnier Brad Pitt, replete with dirty blond hair that is messy in a way that can only be achieved via a two-hundred-dollar haircut. He has dull blue eyes that draw you in slowly as opposed to striking you all at once, so you can savor the spell they create.

Matthew sashays across the room to me with all the poise of a runway model. He turns whatever room he is in into a stage. This is how he commands a room. This is why he is paid a king’s ransom as a lobbyist for a pharmaceutical company that changes from time to time based on who’s paying him the most. Matthew and I have been friends since our days in law school at Yale, but it’s been over a year since I last saw him.

“Oh my God!” Without missing a beat, we are wrapped up in each other’s arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Just got in yesterday,” he says backing up while still holding my hands in the air. “Let me see you.” I give him half a twirl. “Still killing it,” he compliments.

I look to Anne who is standing a few feet from us, one hand holding her elbow as if she was completely out of place. “You remember my assistant?”

“Of course,” Matthew walks to Anne and holds out a hand. “It’s Anna, right?”

She nods and shakes his hand.

“No, Matthew. It’s Anne, not Anna,” I correct. Anne needs to learn to speak up for herself.